Lost Detectives: The Broken Butterfly
by toestastegood
Summary: With an unsolved case to solve and a tangle of lies to work his way through, DI Ford has better things to do with his time than indulging in an office romance. So why can't he keep his eyes on the job and away from DC Pace? [Slash, AU, CharliexSawyer]
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, or Charlie, or Sawyer, or any of the lovely characters featured in this AU. I wish I did.

A/N: This is an Alternate Universe fic, where the characters are living and working in London. It was written for the 'auabc' community on LiveJournal.

Prologue

_You're not a psychopath. That would imply a loss of reason, a lack of sense. That's not you. Your every move is logical. You know what you're doing. Everything has a reason. _

You've been waiting here, hidden by shadow, for an hour now. Maybe longer. You can't feel your toes any longer and the sensation in your fingers is starting to fade. You tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that after tonight nothing _will matter any more. _

This is for him, _you tell yourself._ For him.

_The rapid sound of heels on concrete grabs your attention. You look up, see what you've been waiting for: black hair, minimal make up, modest clothes. The humble whore. _

You call her name and she jumps in the dark, startled. When she sees you she smiles, but she seems confused. She glances around the area – there's no one in sight. You made sure of that; you're smart, smarter than anyone gives you credit for.

By the time she's asked you her first question in broken English – 'Why're you here?' – you're on her, hands around her neck in a strong hold. Bruising.

She screams and struggles and flaps, a captured butterfly, and her nails scratch your cheek. You don't feel the pain, as her struggles get weaker, weaker, weaker.

When she finally stops, dead and beautiful beneath your hands, you hold on for a few moments, just to be sure. Then you drop her to the ground and leave her like that, dead and empty.

You walk away, hands in pocket, innocent as always.

* * *

This was not a pleasant way to start a Monday morning.

With a heavy sigh and heavier heart, Jack Shepherd snapped on his latex gloves and walked towards the examination table.

There was a young woman lying on it, with her skin pale and her eyes closed. Jack had been working as a coroner for five years now, but the job never became any easier. He didn't think that he'd ever be able to accept humanity's brutal side, despite the evidence of it that he faced each day.

Evidence pointing towards this woman's murderer would be a lot harder to find. There were deep bruises around the neck, which seemed to suggest that strangulation was the cause of death. That made sense, especially combined with the other clues – there was minimal bleeding from her open wounds, which showed that she had already been dead by the time the wounds were inflicted. Jack supposed that made her lucky.

The fingers and thumbs on both hands had been removed. Her teeth in her mouth had been yanked out, her jaw dislocated in the process. However, despite that goof, this appeared to be an almost professional job. As Jack switched the light on above the table and leaned down to examine the stumps where her fingers had once been, he could see that the cuts were clean and clinical – they'd probably been inflicted by a scalpel.

He smiled sadly at the mangled face of their Jane Doe. "Don't worry. We're _going_ to find out who did this to you," he promised, in the otherwise empty morgue.

He just hoped that London's police department had someone good on the case.


	2. Chapter One

Detective Inspector James Sawyer Ford stubbed out his cigarette and fanned the fumes away as he heard heavy footsteps coming up the corridor in the direction of his office. Over the year, he'd tuned his hearing to that hallway, so that he could always look as if he was busy when someone was coming.

In truth, it wasn't difficult to look busy in his office. Paper work was scattered over every surface, including the floor, despite the sturdy filing cabinets that sat in the corner of the room. He was fairly sure that they were empty; he hadn't ventured inside for years.

He grabbed the closest sheet of paper; a form that only required his signature, that had apparently been waiting for him for over a month. Wincing at his own sloth, he picked up his pen and scrawled his name at the bottom. He'd give it to Charlie to deliver to the correct department when he came in with some fresh coffee. Technically speaking, DC Pace was a constable and not Sawyer's personal secretary and dogsbody, but Sawyer had never concerned himself with the 'technically's of the world.

He grabbed the next sheet of paper on the pile, paperwork on a homicide case that he'd cracked months ago, when the door sprung open and the bald head of the Superintendent, John Locke, peered in. His blue eyes, once with a scar sprawling across it, checked that the room was otherwise empty before he stepped inside.

"Sorry to disturb you, James," he said, smiling vaguely. He was distracted, mind on other things, so Sawyer didn't bother to hide his annoyance at the use of his first name, his 'real' name. "Hope you're not up to anything too important?"

"No, sir." The 'sir' tasted dirty in his mouth. Maybe all those people who had accused him of having a problem with authority had been right. "Just working through some old paperwork; nothing I can't do any other time. What're you wanting done?"

Locke looked troubled. "Didn't you get my memo?"

Sawyer kept his face blank – he'd got it, read something about going down to the morgue to talk to Dr. Sheppard, and had immediately thrown it away. At the Christmas party last year, he and Jack had gotten into a fist fight and both had been suspended from work for a week. He wasn't too keen to repeat the experience.

He decided that, where the memo was concerned, his best option was to feign ignorance. "No. What'd it say?"

"A body's turned up, James. Looks like some sort of low life so you needn't work too hard on it." Sawyer raised his eyebrows but didn't comment on the charming display of classism. There was no point; bodies like these were turning up all the time. If they worked flat out on all of them, they'd have no resources left for the real cases. "Ana was supposed to take it, but she's fallen ill. I want you on it."

Sawyer nodded. "Yes sir."

Locke moved to the door, but looked back and didn't open it yet. "And James?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember to fill in the paperwork this time." Locke flashed a smile and then was gone, whistling down the corridor. Sawyer heard Charlie saying hello to the Superintendent, the two having a laughed conversation, before even that faded and Sawyer was left with silence.

He wrote down one sentence on the sheet of paper in front of him, then gave up with a sigh. He threw the pen down and leaned back in chair.

Looked like a trip to the morgue was needed.

* * *

As always, the morgue was attempting to look like a happier place than it was. Light streamed in through window and classical music played softly in the background. It was pointless – like it or not, a morgue was a morgue and a dead body was still dead, regardless of how you dressed it up.

So Sawyer ignored the gentle effects to come storming into the room, doors slamming open. "Shephard?" he yelled, when he couldn't immediately locate the coroner. "Locke said you've got a body for me?"

Jack appeared from the side door, but Sawyer had already caught sight of the body lying on the slab. Ooh, that looked gruesome – maybe this case wasn't going to be as boring as he'd first anticipated.

"Her name's Sun," Jack chided, but his tone was professional. "Sun Kwon. Forensics ran a fingerprint they found at the scene through the database. We were lucky, managed to find out who she was."

"Got any priors?" Sawyer asked, even though by now there were bound to be files on his desk containing this information.

Jack seemed to realise this, but he supplied the answers anyway. "Two. 1997, for driving under the influence. Then she was arrested again in 1999 – for solicitation."

Sawyer raised an eyebrow, because things were definitely becoming a little more interesting. He probably should have headed along to the crime scene, even though it would have been swept clean by forensics by now. Damn.

He loosely paid attention as Jack ran through a checklist and led him through all the various cuts and wounds over the body. Strangulation, severed fingers, missing teeth, broken jaw, no evidence of rape, blah blah.

Jack seemed to realise that he didn't have Sawyer's full attention. "I thought DI Cortez was working the case?"

"She got sick. It's mine now."

"You'd better solve it, Ford."

"I _will_," he snapped back, defensive by now. It didn't take a lot from Jack to get his back up. Things had been tense between them for years, ever since Jack had walked in on his girlfriend and Sawyer together. Jack and Kate had split up after that, but Sawyer kept in touch with her; she was a journalist, good at sticking her nose in where it wasn't needed. She could usually be relied on to provide some useful information.

"Okay." Jack didn't sound as if he believed him, not really.

Sawyer looked down at the body and digested the information he'd been given before Jack had started to annoy him. Nodding to himself, he glanced up at Jack. "I want a full report on her by the end of the day," he ordered. Without giving Jack the opportunity to object, he turned and walked back out of the morgue.

* * *

Just as he'd expected, the crime scene barely looked out of the ordinary by now. The body was gone, the evidence was bagged, and though there was still vibrant yellow police tape marking the alleyway off, there was nothing left to see. Just various officers in uniform, milling around and looking bored.

Sawyer went anyway and had a good look around. Dried blood on the ground, dark and almost black in the shadows and a mud-lined footprint – other than that, there was nothing.

He stayed anyway and studied the size of the blood stain, the size of the footprint – about the same as his own, though the forensics department would be able to be a lot more accurate about that – and looked around just in case there was anything that the previous team on the job might have missed.

Obviously not.

Damn it. He'd wanted to feel at least a little productive.

Sighing, he eventually pulled out the phone he had on him and called the station, just to report on his whereabouts.

"Good afternoon London Police Department Homicide this is DC Pace speaking how can I help you?" Charlie's voice said in a rush, not pausing for breath at all. He sounded rushed off his feet. Sawyer had to smirk at that, even though he was standing alone at the scene of a murder.

"It's DI Ford," he said to introduce himself; they weren't on first name terms, not yet. Charlie had just transferred down from Manchester a few weeks ago – and Sawyer wasn't even friends with the people he'd been working with for years. "I'm at the crime scene." He just assumed Charlie would know what he was talking about. He usually did – he somehow managed to keep track of what case everyone was working on.

"Oh, good. John was looking for you, by the way. Said you were following up a lead. He didn't seem to believe me. Think it's 'cause I'm kind of a crap liar."

Sawyer nodded, but having the Superintendent looking for him couldn't be good. That usually meant he'd done something wrong. "What's Locke want with me?"

"Said that we've managed to find an address for the vic's husband – and he also kind of said that, seeing as you're heading up the case, you have to be the one to tell him, and get him to ID the body and stuff."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it? You want me to come with you?"

Sawyer shook his head, because he preferred working alone even if the department would rather that he didn't. He wasn't a team player – never would be. "No, I'm fine. What's the address?"

He grabbed a pen from his pocket and wrote it down on the back of his hand, along with the name while Charlie told him some extra details. He grouched and hung up without another word.

* * *

Sawyer parked outside the house, and looked out of the window. It wasn't somewhere you'd expect to find the home of a dead prostitute. There were _flowerbeds_, for hell's sake. A woman walking her fluffy little dog peered disapprovingly at him through the window. He stared back at her until she hurried away.

He frowned down at the address and name, written on his hand. Fuck. He hated this part of the job.

Jin Kwon. Immigrant, moved to London ten years ago, but there was no record of what he did for a living. Officially, he was unemployed. Officially, Sun had been too. 'Officially' didn't mean a whole lot.

"Here goes," he muttered to himself, while unbuckling his seatbelt. Hopefully this would be over with quickly. Maybe he'd have time to head to the pub afterwards, get a drink or two. DC Pace had mentioned that he'd probably be in the pub around the corner after work. Seeing as Charlie had only transferred to their branch, just over a week ago, it would make sense to get to know him – to investigate him, basically.

Well, that was something to look forwards to. He'd definitely need it.

One deep breath, then he walked out of the car and up the stone path towards the front door. There were several potted plants by the doorstep, pretty and decorative. Sawyer frowned at them as he raked through the various pockets on his clothing – jacket, shirt, trousers; he supposed he was lucky that, as an inspector, he no longer had to wear the uniform – and eventually located his ID badge. He rang the doorbell and waited.

The door opened after a wait of a few moments. Sawyer quickly looked over the man answering the door, evaluating him; neat black trousers, expensive watch, pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like a business executive. Not really what Sawyer had been expecting, to be honest. He wondered if Jin even knew what his wife did to keep the money rolling in.

He flashed his badge. "DI Sawyer Ford. Are you Jin Kwon?" he asked.

He received a blank stare in returned, then an alarmed burst of some foreign language. Aw, shit.

"Slow down," he ordered, and Jin shut up. Sawyer already wished that he'd forced Charlie to do this for him. Sawyer was a DI, wasn't he? He was supposed to delegate. That was one of the perks. "I don't speak your damn language."

Jin carried on looking at him with worried confusion.

"Look, can I come in?" Still no comprehension. Alright. Slower this time. Accompanying hand gestures. Whatever. "Can. I. Come. In?"

He wasn't sure why he wanted to. He had no warrant and no reason yet to look around inside. Still…

He pointed rapidly inside, and that seemed to do the trick; Jin stepped back to let him past. He walked inside and looked around the hallway. Nice place, to match the perfectly groomed exterior. The floor beneath his feet was made of varnished wood. He was tempted to remove his shoes.

Jin stared at him expectantly, but Sawyer knew he couldn't do a thing without a translator or a warrant. So what could he do for now?

"Your wife?" he said, voice raised. "Sun Kwon?"

Jin seemed to recognise the name at least, because he nodded frantically and started up jabbering in his own language again. Sawyer waved the words away. "I don't understand you, so just stop it." Jin didn't. Sawyer closed his eyes and willed it away.

Alright, this was pointless, a wasted journey. He should've saved himself the time. Shaking his head, he looked at Jin's face again. How the hell did anyone live in this country for so many years without learning the language? Sawyer had lived in England for five years, and already he had dozens of 'bloody' and 'buggers' falling into his speech.

"I'm going to have a look around," he said loudly, and accompanied the words with a wave of his hand. He probably wouldn't find anything, and he'd be yelled at if anyone found out because he didn't have a warrant, but it was something to do.

He walked down the hallway with Jin trailing behind him. The house was normal, really. Depressingly so. The decoration was neat and understated, although there were definitely way too many houseplants scattered around. He hated the moist smell of them.

He made a cursory sweep of the house. Nothing out of the ordinary. There was a door upstairs that wouldn't open – probably nothing, probably a cupboard containing the boiler, but he noted it anyway and reminded himself to check it out later.

He looked back to Jin, who was staring at him, and headed back to the stairs. "I'm gonna have to take you in to the station," he said, more to himself than to Jin. "You can wait there 'til they get a translator."

Jin rushed down the stairs after him, but he didn't understand. Of course he didn't. Asshole. He grabbed Sawyer's arm and held tightly. "Sun, yes?"

Frowning, Sawyer removed Jin's hand from his arm. "Yeah. Sun. How much English do you speak?"

"No English. Small."

"We found a body. Think it might be your wife." Not the softest way to break it, but no comprehension dawned on Jin's face, so it didn't matter. Sawyer shook his head. "Just come on."


	3. Chapter Two

"Look, if you want to report it, go ahead. Stop whining about it like I should actually _care_."

Boone glared at Shannon where she lay on the bed, flicking through a magazine. Sometimes, she could be so shallow that he wondered why he was still here, still with her.

"You should care, Shan. This could be important."

"Not to me." She stopped to flick to the next page, and didn't look up at Boone as she talked.

"So you don't care that we probably heard someone getting murdered?"

"Do I look like I do?"

"You're not a sociopath, despite what you want me to think. You care."

"No, Boone. I don't. You shouldn't either – it's not like it was anyone you knew."

"Grow up, Shannon," Boone said, reaching for the phone. It was when they bickered like this that he could never be sure if they were truly lovers, or just step-siblings again. He flipped through the phone book, found the number and called the police station to report the scream they'd heard two nights ago – in the exact same area that was plastered with police tape today.

* * *

DC Charlie Pace was just putting his jacket on, ready to head around to the pub to drown away the memories of the day. He felt exhausted – with DI Ford running around like a lunatic, bringing in the Korean husband for no apparent reason, then leaving Jin for Charlie to baby-sit, Charlie didn't think he'd ever had a more fraught day in his life.

He'd managed to settle Jin in one of the nicer interview rooms, and he'd called in a favour from a mate in Manchester, so there was a translator going to be here first thing tomorrow morning. Charlie was looking forward to it, actually – it'd be nice to see a friendly face, and faces didn't come much friendlier than Desmond's. He missed the old team from the station in Manchester already.

He'd no sooner managed to get Jin comfortable than he had to handle a phone call from some elite-sounding kid, saying he'd heard a scream near the murder scene a few nights ago. Charlie had taken the details down, along with Boone's phone number. Might be nothing. Could be something.

He wrapped a scarf around his neck, picked up his notes for Sawyer, then started to walk quietly up the corridor towards Sawyer's office. He used to walk normally up here but Sawyer seemed to have some sort of supernatural power that allowed him to hear and be ready whenever someone was coming to see him.

He knocked on the door and waited for the rough bark of Sawyer's 'come in!' that followed soon after.

The office was messy, naturally; cigarette smoke wound up lazily from the full ashtray, cups of cool coffee lay abandoned on the desk, there was paperwork on the floor, a dead plant on the window still, and a half-eaten sandwich on the desk. Charlie mentally reminded himself to clear it up for Sawyer at some point; this place was probably a health hazard.

"Sir? Notes on the case." He walked in and placed a scribbled post-it on the desk. Sawyer glanced at it sceptically. Alright, so Charlie supposed that calling a single post-it 'notes' was a slight exaggeration. Still, Sawyer should've been grateful that Charlie had written anything down at all, right? He was technically off duty right now, and had been for at least an hour. He sighed. "There was a phone call – someone phoned from the area, said he heard a scream at about 2am two nights ago. I've got DC Littleton to hunt around and see if she can find any other potential witnesses."

"Why couldn't you have done it?" Sawyer asked, frowning.

Charlie froze and frowned too. He'd been trying to be helpful, but… Fuck. He'd screwed up already, hadn't he? Brilliant way to make a good impression on the boss.

Sawyer grinned suddenly, the stern impression vanishing. He waved away the panicked look on Charlie's face. "Relax, alright? If I was pissed at you, I'd be yelling by now. Thanks for staying late."

Charlie smiled, and felt (some of) the tension leaving him. "It's no problem, sir."

"You're going to the bar?" Sawyer asked.

"Yeah."

"Wait two seconds and I'll come with you. I need a drink."

Charlie agreed, but he made a mental note not to have more than one drink. He didn't want to make a fool out of himself in front of a Detective Inspector (and especially not one with a smile like that).

* * *

The following morning, Sawyer nursed a hangover as he sank into his chair in his office. He'd definitely had one (or two, or three, or four) too many to drink last night. Now he had to deal with a murder investigation, a foreign husband, and Charlie smirking at him every time he passed by the front desk.

He could vaguely remember slapping Charlie on the back (he _hoped_ it was the back in any case, though he had the sneaking suspicion that it might have been slightly lower) and instructing him to call him _Sawyie_, not sir.

He looked out of the window, and then down at the post-it in his hand. He'd found it, along with a glass of water and two pain-killers, sitting on his desk this morning.

_'For your head DI 'Sawyie'. Hope you're feeling okay!'_ was written in Charlie's nearly illegible hand writing. In the corner of the note sat a crudely drawn smiley face.

Sawyer smiled, reluctantly, and tucked the post-it into his shirt pocket. He'd already downed the pills and was just waiting for them to take effect.

The phone rang, too loud – it felt as if it was drilling into his head. He snatched at it and barked into the receiver, "Yes?"

"Sorry, sir," Charlie said; Sawyer could hear the way he was smiling just through his voice. Sadistic bastard. "The translator's arrived. Will you be okay attending? I can do it if you want."

Sawyer scowled now, convinced that Charlie was patronising him. He supposed that, really, he ought to just be glad that Charlie was calling him 'sir' again. "I'll be _fine_."

"Right. Good. Brilliant. He's out in reception."

Sawyer hung up without replying.

* * *

Desmond looked around the reception, mentally comparing it to the Manchester station. Naturally, it didn't even nearly match the standards, but that was to be expected. He was patriotic about the places he worked in. Manchester was good, and the first place he'd worked in – Gayfields in Edinburgh – would always be nostalgically painted gold within his memory.

It was good to see Charlie again, though. They'd only worked together for a few months, with Desmond coming to Manchester just as Charlie was planning his move down here. Still, that had been enough for them to share a few nights out and several drunken fumbles.

Charlie placed down the phone and smiled from where he was sitting behind the reception desk. "DI Ford's just coming along." He paused and shrugged. "Actually, I'm not too sure. He seemed to think the politest way to end the conversation was to hang up on me."

"He's an individual character then, I take it?"

"Yeah. An individual character with a massive hangover. Had a little too much to drink last night."

Desmond nodded. "Ah. Were the two of you out drinking, then?"

"_He_ was out drinking. I was out having a drink. There's a significant difference."

"There is?"

"Yeah. I don't wind up downing painkillers the next day."

"There is that." Desmond smiled, but stood up as he heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards them.

Sawyer appeared, and he looked exactly as Desmond had expected. Tired, harassed, wearing yesterday's shirt. He was a little younger, a lot better looking, but Desmond could still keep his faith in his ability to estimate people, to read them.

Charlie caught Sawyer's eye then gestured towards Desmond. "This is Desmond Hume. He's the translator." Desmond smiled, but didn't receive one in return. They shook hands, and it felt like Sawyer was trying to crush his bones. "Des, this is DI Ford. He's working the case."

Sawyer looked irritated with the introduction. "Charlie, shut up," he snapped, before he turned to walk towards the stairs.

Charlie shook his head, and stood up. "Good luck," he said to Desmond, with a half-mocking, half-pitying smile.

Desmond nodded, knowing that he'd almost definitely need it.

* * *

Sawyer opened the door to the interview room, and knew that this was going to be awful. Jin had been kept in here, without a clue what was happening, for over twelve hours. He was going to be pissed off. Extremely pissed off.

The second Sawyer and Desmond stepped into the room, an angry burst of Korean hit them. Each sentence sounded like gunfire to Sawyer, increasing his headache. Two rounds of the foreign language started as Desmond joined in.

Sawyer sat down in the seat opposite Jin, leaving the spare one for Desmond to sit in. "Tell him we found a body, murdered. We think it's his wife."

Desmond seemed stunned by how blunt that was, but screw him. He was just the translator – therefore, he could translate it into something softer if he wanted to. How the hell did some hairy guy with a dumb accent learn Korean anyhow?

He decided that he didn't care and just wanted to outlaw the language entirely after Jin immediately started yelling.

Desmond looked to him. "I don't think he's taking the news well. He doesn't believe you."

"Tell him he's gotta ID the body after this, so he can check for himself. In the meantime, we've got some questions," Sawyer said, trying not to be put off by the way Desmond had started translating by the time he'd reached the word 'ID'. It was disorienting. "Firstly, when was the last time he saw his wife?"

An exchange of Korean took place, with a considerably quieter Jin, and he finally got his answer. "Three nights ago, now. He was supposed to pick her up after work, but she never showed up."

Sawyer looked down for a second. "Why didn't he report it immediately?"

As Desmond started to translate again, Sawyer sighed – this was taking too long, and hurting his head too much.

"She's an adult. He knew you wouldn't take it seriously after just two days."

Sawyer nodded, and wrote that down on the pad of paper he had with him. There was going to be a taped recording of the interview anyway, but it was easier for him to gather his thoughts on paper.

"There was a room in his house that I couldn't get into. Ask him what it is."

That should've been a simple enough question to answer, but as soon as Desmond asked, Jin started yelling, like his voice was actually _trying_ to attack Sawyer's head. Desmond quickly joined in too, hands in front of him as he tried to calm Jin down.

Sawyer groaned. "What's going on?"

"He's a wee bit pissed at you, brother."

"I can see that. Why?"

"He wants to know if he's a suspect. Come on, Ford. Wasn't exactly sensitive of you to start the questioning right after telling him his wife's dead. Give him a break."

Sawyer supposed he had a point, but he resented it all the same. He hated having to deal with _people_ in his job. He wasn't anti-social, but he seemed to lack the skills required to put someone at ease, unless he was focusing on it while trying to worm the information out of a suspect. He just antagonised them.

He gave up, for now, but he'd have to question the guy eventually. "Alright, we'll stop. Take him along to the morgue, get the body IDed."

He stood up and left the room, before Desmond could mention that he didn't actually know where the morgue _was_.


	4. Chapter Three

"Charlie? I want a warrant for the Kwon house. Get it-" Sawyer stopped talking as he realised that the front desk was empty, with Charlie nowhere in sight.

Scowling, because he hated being reminded that there were other inspectors on the police force with equal authority to him, he stormed up to his office and entered.

And stopped. And stared. And gawped.

What had _happened_ in here? Where the hell was his stuff? And why was there a potted plant on his windowsill?

All of his paperwork appeared to have been either stored in the filing cabinet or placed in his inbox in a neatly organised pile. His troop of old coffee cups and forgotten sandwiches had been cleared away. The whole place looked clean: he hadn't seen it like this since he'd first been promoted into this office.

He took a cautious step into the room, wondering if someone would pounce out from the shadows and attempt to clean him up too.

There was no attack, so he moved over to his neat desk and spotted one of Charlie's post-it notes stuck to the surface: _Hope you like the new office, took me ages. Tell me if you don't – we can combine forces and mess it all up again. It'll be great. I'll even bring the moldy sandwiches (you're so gross, by the way)_

There was another smiling face drown, before a 'PTO' in the bottom corner. Sawyer flipped the small square over and read the remaining words. _PS. Did you have a good time with Des? Hope the husband didn't hurt your head. Remember, you can't have any more painkillers til 12, unless you wanna overdose and die. And that'd be sad, so don't do it._

Sawyer smiled indulgently and didn't try to hide it. Instead, grinning like a schoolboy, he reached for the phone and dialled Locke's number; he really needed to get himself that warrant.

* * *

PC Charlie Pace walked behind Sawyer, towards the door of the Kwon household. It had taken another day to get that warrant, especially as Jin had refused to just _let_ them search the house. Sawyer hadn't improved matters by loudly losing his temper.

Time seemed to be slipping away without any progress, but at least the Superintendent wasn't getting at them about it, yet. Locke didn't seem to even care.

"So the husband's a suspect?" Charlie asked, speeding up a little to walk beside Sawyer instead of behind him.

DI Ford looked towards him. He had his 'work face' on, so he wouldn't be able to joke around and have a laugh like they'd usually been doing lately. Right now, Charlie just received a tight nod. "He's _something_. No alibi, and he didn't want us searching his house. He's hiding something."

"Hence the warrant."

"Yeah." Sawyer came to the door and pounded on it. Jin had had to be released, as they didn't have the evidence to hold him – yet. Sawyer was _going_ to find it.

Charlie smiled nervously as the door opened. Jin stood there, with his eyes blood-shot and his face tea-stained. Desmond had been called back to Manchester, so they were really screwed. Charlie glanced behind him – there were two other DCs lurking by the second car, trying to look useful.

Sawyer held up the sheet of paper that he had with him, their warrant. "We're searching you house. If you try to stop us, we'll have to arrest you."

Charlie knew for a fact that Sawyer really wanted Jin to try and stop them, just to have that excuse. But Jin nodded and stepped backwards .Sawyer gestured to the other two officers to rush forwards and enter after them. "You two search downstairs. You're looking for _anything_ out of the ordinary – I don't care how small. You got that?"

"Yes, sir," they both said at once.

Sawyer looked to Charlie. "You're upstairs with me." Charlie was sure that he saw the hint of a smile with those words; damn, he was going to get a reputation as a suck-up, as 'the teacher's pet'. Sawyer's smile faded quickly, though, and his eyes flicked back to the other constables. "One of you keep an eye on Mr. Miyagi over there."

He stalked towards the stairs. Charlie gave the other two a sympathetic smile before he rushed after Sawyer.

The search was customary, really, though Charlie could tell that Sawyer wasn't really paying much attention. He seemed to have other things on his mind than looking through bedrooms and rifling through drawers.

He still made a half-hearted attempt at it, while Charlie did all the actual legwork. Being a constable sort of sucked.

It didn't amount to much. He found a diary, mostly empty, which he placed into an evidence bag. There were no photos of Sun and Jin around, not even wedding photos.

"Come on," Sawyer said eventually. "There was a locked door here before. That's what I really wanted to see." He moved along the hallway with Charlie behind him.

There was nothing unusual about the door itself, so Charlie wasn't sure what it was about it that had drawn Sawyer's attention. Probably just the fact that it had been locked.

It was _still_ locked as Sawyer tried again. He rattled the door handle rapidly several times, to no effect. He yelled a brief shout at the door, and kicked the lower panel in frustration. He looked like he was about to have a tantrum, so Charlie took a step backwards.

He was right to do so, seeing as a few seconds later the tantrum culminated in a flash of violence: Sawyer yelled at the door, kicked the lower panel twice more, then backed up and kicked higher. The lock buckled, the door flapped open, but Charlie glanced backwards and wondered if Sawyer was even allowed to do that.

He forgot about that when he looked forwards again and actually saw the room. "Whoa…"

The room was pink – and fluffy. Very pink and fluffy.

Sawyer had already stepped inside, his eyes wide and greedy, but Charlie only edged to the doorway. It was a bizarre room to see even from the outside – he was worried that he'd be sucked into an alternate dimension if he set one foot on that fuzzy pink carpet.

On top of that carpet, there was an even fluffier heart-shaped rug. The majority of the room, however, was taken up by a bed – king-sized, with a silky sheet on top of it. At the head of the bed, a mound of teddy bears sat.

Charlie eventually walked into the room after Sawyer glared at him for not doing so. He looked around, looking for anything out of place.

But the entire _room_ was out of place, girly and frilly in Jin's sleek and modern home. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed and felt it dip underneath him. Nice bed – if it was his and slightly less creepy, he would have spent all of his time jumping around on it.

He picked up one of the teddy bears and looked down at it. It was a mangy old thing, with a missing eye and stitched up arm. He sympathetically ran a hand over the brown material that made up its face. Then that one eyed stare started to creep him out, so he placed it back in the pink and fluffy pile.

"What is this, sir?" he asked, looking to Sawyer for help.

Sawyer shook his head, apparently as clueless as Charlie, but he didn't appear disheartened by this at all. Instead, he was grinning – eager at the prospect of a new challenge. "I don't know. It's pink."

"I gathered that," Charlie muttered, as he looked around the room. He could feel the glare that Sawyer gave him for that comment but simply ignored it. Instead, he stood up and walked towards the wall as something there attracted his attention.

A black dot in the middle of a pink wall. Tiny but still there; it stuck out, the absence of colour in a sea of pink. He walked up and stood on the tips of his toes to try and work it out. Frowning, he realised that it wasn't just a dot – it was a hole. Neat and circular, as if someone had drilled it.

Alright, that was weird – wasn't it? A hole in the wall? Charlie was sure that was weird. He tried to peer inside and saw something glinting there. "Sawyer?" he asked, briefly forgetting to call him 'sir'.

Sawyer didn't appear to mind, because he suddenly 'whoop!'ed loudly. Charlie turned around to see Sawyer on his knees next to the bed, tugging a vibrant pink suitcase out from under it. "Think I found something."

Charlie nodded. "Me too." He moved away from his discovery and towards Sawyer. "There's a hole in the wall. I think there's something inside it." Sawyer looked up, surprised, and seemed impressed when Charlie pointed towards the wall; Charlie felt a rough burst of pride swelling.

He pushed it back and pointed to the suitcase Sawyer had found. "Come on, mate. Don't be a tease; let's see what's inside."

Sawyer quirked an eyebrow indecently at him, but he unzipped the suitcase and flipped the top up.

Although Charlie had managed not to blush when Sawyer had smiled like that at him, the contents of the case definitely brought a red flush to his cheeks. Wow. It was like a portable sex shop; toys and costumes - he looked away before he could try to examine it any closer. "Um…"

Sawyer didn't appear to have the same hang-ups, as he just chuckled a plucked up a pair of handcuffs, lined with faux leopard print. Laughing like he was a kid, he threw them into Charlie's lap.

"Damn, I wish I knew this girl when she was alive." Sawyer continued raking through the suitcase; he picked up a skimpy nurse's costume and held it up to admire. Charlie just placed the handcuffs back into the case.

He stood up and took a step backwards. Raking through a dead prostitute's kit bag was a little too much for him. He went back to his wall. "So, sir…" he said, as casually as he could. "What's this room, then? Somewhere that she, uh, took… clients?"

"No," Jin said from the doorway. Charlie turned quickly to see the man standing in there – when had he turned up? Charlie had thought the constables downstairs were watching him. "She did _not_ bring clients here."

Sawyer stood up. "You speak English?"

"Yes. I do."

"Since when? We had to call down a damn translator 'cause of you – I could arrest you for this, asshole. Trying to pervert the course of justice. Do you understand _that_?"

"Yes. But I did not pervert."

"You damn well tried to."

"No. I never told you that I could not speak English."

"Fuck off. This ain't Rush Hour, you son of a bitch. This is serious. You broke the law. I'm gonna make sure you go to jail for that."

Charlie stepped forwards, between the two, as Sawyer had been steadily advancing forwards and looked as if he wanted to punch Jin. "DI Ford," he snapped – he used Sawyer's professional title on purpose, to try and remind him that they were actually at work. "I think everyone here needs to calm down; Jin looks like he's ready to explain everything to us, so we're going to sit down and listen to him. Alright?"

Sawyer frowned – it looked like a pout, to be honest – but he nodded and moved towards the door.

* * *

They relocated down to the living room, but Sawyer didn't stop glaring once. That _bastard_ spoke English.

Sawyer and Charlie sat down on the black leather couch, while Jin sat uneasily in the matching armchair. The other two constables were left lurking by the door.

Sawyer looked plainly at Jin. "Well?"

"I speak English."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sawyer stayed looking at him, trying to estimate how long it would take to make him squirm under the weight of his gaze. "What I want to know is why."

"I thought it would bring me trouble."

"Damn right it will." Sawyer probably shouldn't have been questioning him at all right now; he was too frustrated and pissed off. "It's gonna-"

He cut himself off and looked down at his knee as Charlie grabbed it – he clutched it tightly, with his fingers digging in slightly. It was a warning to calm down, but it was a damn weird one. It was Charlie's _hand_ on his _knee_ and… he liked that a lot more than was appropriate.

The hand was withdrawn in a rush, as if Charlie had finally realised what he was doing and why he shouldn't have been doing it.

Sawyer shook his head to try and clear it, and found his pulse racing a lot faster than it should have been. Damn it. What had he been saying?

"Yeah. Room. Upstairs." He paused for a moment while Jin looked amused, trying to remind himself that he was an _adult_ inspector and not a teenage boy. "You said it wasn't used for clients?"

"Yes. No clients."

"So what's it used for?"

"The camera."

The two constables by the door shifted uncomfortably. "You made pornos?" Sawyer asked, while trying to remember if he'd recognised Sun Kwon in the photos of her he'd seen.

But Jin shook his head rapidly. "No! It's all alright. This is no sex." Sawyer severely doubted that; he'd seen exactly what was in the case he'd found. Someone with that sort of equipment didn't go into that room just to read. "Um… talk? With the computer, she would talk."

Sawyer wasn't sure whether to believe Jin right now, but that guy definitely _appeared _to be struggling with his English. He could be faking, but Sawyer doubted it.

Luckily, Charlie was there to help. "So she was a web-cam girl?" he asked, sounding fascinated. "That's what the hole in the wall was? A camera?"

Jin nodded rapidly. "Yes. Four in walls and one in ceiling. She works with a laptop in the room. I have a big computer outside to control with. They'd pay for an hour."

Christ. One hour? Sawyer thought that you'd be blinded by all that pink by then. "She had a lot of 'clients' seeing her that way?"

"Yes. I have records."

"We'll need to take them."

"I have schedules of who she saw face-to-face too."

Sawyer didn't think he'd ever met a more helpful pimp. "We'll need to take that too."

"Yes. Anything you need – I'll help."

"Yeah. _Now_ you'll help," Sawyer grumbled.

"Sorry. I made a mistake. Just please find out who killed her."

"I plan on doing exactly that, Mr. Kwon."


	5. Chapter Four

Being 'the New Guy' sucked, Charlie realised as he continued to go through the records they'd found on the Kwon's computer. You got given the worse jobs – he'd been blushing for nearly an hour straight.

The internet definitely made people bolder, or perhaps blunter—

_AngelBoi says: Yeh, take the pantz off 2. :)_

There was also some significantly more embarrassing stuff (and he'd sadly found himself with an erection since roughly he'd started going through it) but it was difficult to work out anything from it.

There was one thing, he supposed. Someone called 'GWHunter' appeared frequently – every Wednesday and Friday, at exactly nine pm. It had been happening for the past three months according to the logs. What seemed significant about it, to Charlie, was that he'd been the last one to talk to her via her webcam.  
_  
Sunshine says: Hey  
Sunshine says: Are you alright? You're on late today.  
Sunshine says: I thought you were gonna stand me up!!!  
Sunshine says: …  
Sunshine says: Are you still there?  
GWHunter says: Yeah, I'm here.  
Sunshine says: You had me worried. I had to wait for u. Shld I make you wait for me?  
GWHunter says: No. Just take your bra off.  
Sunshine says: How bout a plz:P  
GWHunter says: Just do it. I'm the one paying you.  
Sunshine says: What's wrong? You're angry at me.  
GWHunter says: I'm NOT angry.  
Sunshine says: Is it because of what happened last time?  
GWHunter says: No.  
Sunshine says: I said I'm sorry.  
GWHunter says: You've_ said _a lot of things, Sunshine. _

-GWHunter has left the room-

It all seemed pretty melodramatic, and Charlie couldn't find the record of the 'last time' that Sun had referred to – the Wednesday session was missing for that week.

It all seemed a little off, so he wrote down the details - including the IP address - on a post-it note, then decided to take it down to IT.

* * *

Sawyer closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he leaned back into his armchair. He had a beer on the table in front of him, but he'd just got in from work a few minutes ago and hadn't yet had a chance to drink it.

The clutter of his flat surrounded him, but he didn't even notice the mess any more. The empty bottles and pizza boxes were a permanent feature on his floor – he only remembered to chuck them out when they started to stink.

Now they smelled fine, so he was content to lean back and enjoy his drink. He wouldn't sleep well tonight; he never could when he had an on-going case. If he was lucky, he might drink so much that he passed out. Sighing, he opened his beer and started to relax.

A loud and persistent knocking at the front door interrupted him immediately. Aw, _great_. Who the hell would visit him at this time anyway? It wasn't like he actually had (or wanted) any 'friends'.

He angrily slammed his beer back down on the table, got out of his chair, and stalked towards the door. When he opened it, the angry rant he'd been prepared died on his tongue as he saw Charlie grinning on the doorstep. He was out of his work clothes, the neat and orderly shirt replaced by a t-shirt and jeans, underneath a thin jacket and red-and-blue striped scarf.

He was still in stunned silence as Charlie pushed past him, with his cheeks red from the cold outside. "Hey, Sawyer. Came looking for you."

"You found me."

"Yeah – looked up your address on the station's database. Hope you don't mind?" Charlie didn't even give him a chance to mind, seeing as he kept on talking. "Anyway, I was at home and I got this call from—Whoa, your place is a tip." Charlie stopped talking to turn and take in the mess. "I thought your office was bad. Have you ever cleaned up in here?"

"Yeah, actually. Just tidied last weekend," Sawyer snapped. He glared at a half-eaten takeaway box that was next to his opened beer, where it had been sitting for a few days now.

"That's not something to bloody boast about, mate," Charlie said, with a smile creeping onto his face. "You seriously live like this?"

"Well… I would've cleaned up if I'd known I was having guests 'round, wouldn't I?" Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest, but Charlie just smiled, an annoying and _knowing_ smile, and nodded slowly. "Why're you even here?"

"Oh!" Charlie reached into the pocket of his jacket. Sawyer watched him calmly, but left the front door open so that it was clear Charlie had to leave soon; he felt like his territory was being invaded - although, it was the 'picked apart' and 'made fun of' part that really bothered him about the invasion, especially as this was Charlie. In his mind, he'd been starting to create slightly more romantic or lust-filled ways of bringing Charlie to his home.

Charlie tugged a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "Look – I was going through the computer's records, like you told me to, and I found this one really weird guy… Well, sent the stuff over to IT and they found this."

He passed the paper over to Sawyer, who snatched it and quickly read the typed information there. A slow but smug smile found its way onto his face, and he struggled not to laugh. "John Locke?" he asked, reading the name buried in the other information on the paper.

"Yeah. They looked it up – that's who the IP address leads to."

"This is gonna be fun."

Charlie scowled at him. "Be nice, mate."

"I'm always nice." Sawyer moved towards his jacket, his beer forgotten about. "And I'm not your 'mate'. Don't call me that."

Charlie's scowl turned to a smile, and he rocked on his feet happily. "What _should_ I call you then? Sawyie?"

Sawyer glanced up and chucked the nearest cushion at him from the couch. Charlie caught it and placed it down, still grinning at him.

"Sir'll do, kid. Now come on. Let's go talk to the Super."

* * *

John Locke lived in a nice and bland neighbourhood, almost identical to the Kwon's. Then again, Sawyer thought bitterly as he drove through the dark streets, that was to be expected. Superintendent John Locke would obviously live in a place like this, with his fancy promotion, his fancy neighbourhood, his fancy life.

So whereabouts did web-cam whores fit in with that?

He wasn't sure yet and knew that he'd only started to scratch at the surface of this mystery. There was so much more, so many extra levels that he just needed to –

_'Love, love me do  
You know I love you'_

His eyes widened as Charlie flicked the radio on and music flooded through the car. "What're you doing?" he snapped. He moved to switch it off, but Charlie batted his hand lightly away from the controls.

"Listening to the radio!" Charlie had to yell above the music to even be heard.

"It's my car."

"And I'm in it, so we're listening to the radio." Charlie grinned, again; Sawyer was starting to pick up on the fact that _that_ smile was Bad News. "I'm your guest; you've got to be nice to me, sir."

Sawyer glowered, but he left the radio as it was. He told himself that it was just because they only had a few blocks left to go.

All the same, he was extremely relieved when he stopped outside Locke's house. He'd never been able to stand the Beatles.

Charlie was laughing to himself, though. "You're such a bloody grouch," he said with an oddly warm smile, before stepped out of the car.

Sawyer scowled and got out too, slamming the door shut. "A 'grouch'? Who are you – Dickens?"

Charlie looked confused. "What? If I'd called you a scrooge then I'd have been Dickens. And if I'd called you a grinch, I'd have been Seuss. But… I called you a grouch. 'cause you are one. That just makes me, like, the inventor of Sesame Street."

Charlie moved around the car and pulled Sawyer by the arm towards the door of Locke's house.

Sawyer was still trying to catch up with what Charlie had just said, as the DC knocked on the door after spending a few moments trying and failing to find the bell. "Sesame Street?" he asked. "Sorry, 'mate'; I'm not three years old."

"Aw, come on. Y'know, the guy in the bin?" Charlie said, but before he could explain any further, Locke had flung the door open.

With a plain white t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, Locke had obviously been in bed. Sawyer felt slightly put off – he'd never seen Locke when he wasn't wearing his shirt and tie. The old guy had even worn it to the Christmas party.

"James?" Locke asked. He glanced towards Charlie, before back to Sawyer. "Has something happened at the station?"

He looked ready to run for the car and rush into work in his slippers, so Sawyer shook his head quickly. "No, it ain't nothing like that. Can we come in?"

Locke looked uneasy, but he nodded. "Yes, of course. Leave your shoes by the door."

While uneasy, Locke still seemed comfortable enough and completely in control. Sawyer frowned as he took his shoes off; he wanted to see some panic. Locke must've guessed by now why they were here. He glanced towards Charlie and saw the nervous look on his face, before both of them followed Locke to the kitchen.

They sat down on the stools surrounding the table. There were several gadgets on the counter by the wall, but Sawyer doubted if they'd ever been used. They were just there to look nice and shiny.

Locke began to take three mugs out of the cupboard, after switching the kettle on. He didn't turn around, but began to speak anyway. "I suppose you've found me out, haven't you? That's why you're here."

Sawyer nodded, glad that he'd brought this up. "Yeah, Locke. We found out." At the slump of Locke's shoulders from those words, Sawyer couldn't even feel smug about having the ability to drag the bald bastard's name through the mud.

Locke still didn't turn around. "Am I being charged with anything?"

"No, sir," Charlie said. Sawyer felt a slightly possessive flare of annoyance run through him; he wanted to ban Charlie from calling anyone else but him 'sir'. "It wasn't technically illegal. However, if we find out that you had any meetings in person with the victim…"

"I didn't. It was innocent, I promise."

"Yeah." Sawyer rolled his eyes. "As innocent as you can get when you're ordering her to get her kit off."

"It was a mistake. But…"

"Save it. We've got some questions. We can do this here, or would you rather we took you into the station for it?"

Locke shook his head. "I'll cooperate. Here's fine – I've got nothing to hide." The kettle boiled and he filled a teapot. Sawyer was never going to get used to this British obsession with tea. It all tasted like shit to him.

"_Nothing_?" Charlie asked. A swell of pride rose up within Sawyer; Charlie sounded like a hard-nosed investigator already. "Then why didn't you tell us about your sessions with her when we first IDed the body? It would've saved us a whole load of hassle, y'know."

Locke turned around and placed two mugs in front of them, while keeping the third one for himself. "I know. I should have."

"But you didn't," Charlie said.

Locke looked mildly annoyed, which Sawyer liked, because it meant that they were getting to him – about time. He'd been starting to wonder if it was even physically possible to shatter Locke's cool.

"No I… I guess I hoped it would blow over." Locke moved forwards to sit in the seat opposite them at the table.

"It didn't," Charlie said bluntly, before he reached into the pocket of his jacket. His hand emerged clutching a different sheet of paper, which made Sawyer uneasy – he hadn't been shown this sheet. Not being told the full details before an interrogation made him edgy. "Sir, you had an argument with the deceased the last time you spoke."

Locke looked down into his teacup. "Yes. We… There was a slight disagreement."

"About?"

"I wanted to meet her."

"And she didn't want to meet you."

Locke still didn't look up, but he nodded solemnly. Sawyer kept quiet, for now, but he was going to _yell_ at Charlie when this was done – how could he not have told him about that argument?

"She said it was best if we just kept things as they were."

Charlie nodded. "How did that make you feel?"

"I…" Locke looked up, blue eyes as sharp as ever. He was a clever man, a good cop. He'd be able to tell exactly what they were thinking about him. "I didn't kill her, Pace. I can promise you that. I did not kill her."

Locke stood up, angry now and unashamed. Sawyer placed a protective hand on Charlie's arm, just in case. He didn't think that Locke would be stupid enough to try and hurt him, but he didn't trust the guy either. If Charlie got hurt, Sawyer was gonna beat Locke so badly that he couldn't walk properly for a week.

"Alright, alright. How 'bout you calm down, Locke, and then I'll tell you how this is gonna go," Sawyer said, with his voice constantly level. He held Locke's gaze until his superior sat back down and took a shaky drink from his tea. "You're gonna take a few weeks off."

"What? You can't tell me—"

"Take sick leave, for stress. Or something. Tell them you've got herpes if you want, I don't care. Just stay away from this station until the case is cracked. If you don't, I'm going to arrest you as a suspect. That clear?"

Locke shifted on his seat and he was gripping his cup so hard that it was a miracle he hadn't smashed it yet, but he nodded; it was a thick movement, thick with distaste, but it was enough. Sawyer'd accept it.

He got to his feet and dragged Charlie up with him. "We'll see you a couple of weeks," he said, and walked out before either Locke or Charlie could object. He still had Charlie's arm tight in his grip, so Charlie was tugged along behind him. He stormed through the house and slammed the front door behind them once they were outside.

"Sawyer?" Charlie jerked his arm away the second they were out of the house. "What the _hell_ was that? You're just going to cover up for him?" Charlie shoved at his shoulder, frustrated.

So what? Sawyer managed to hold his temper for roughly two seconds but when Charlie started to speak again, he snapped – he saw red, he grabbed Charlie's shoulders and shoved him hard against the pebble-dashed wall beside the door. Charlie winced like that hurt. Good.

"Listen, you son of a bitch. You withheld evidence. You think I like getting surprised during an interview? You think it made you look smart to pull out that fucking sheet of paper?" He pulled Charlie towards only to slam him back again; this time, he could hear a faint thud as Charlie's head hit the wall, and felt briefly alarmed.

But Charlie wasn't fighting him off, or even trying to. He looked scared, sure – but he could have jerked his knee up and had Sawyer rolling on the ground in pain, because they were way too close. Instead, he stayed pliant under Sawyer's hands, with his eyes wide and his hips parted and Sawyer felt way too turned on seeing that expression on Charlie's face.

He looked away for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts again. "It's not funny, asshole, and it didn't make you look smart at all. It made _me_ look like an idiot." He'd dropped his voice to a whisper – he could see Charlie's eyes drift closed because of the sound, and got a small kick out of having that effect on the other.

That kick only lasted for a few seconds, before he dug his nails hard into Charlie's skin through his jacket, through his shirt, just to see Charlie's eyes flash open; alarmed, but they were dark with lust. Aw, fuck. Sawyer couldn't help but toy with the idea of screwing him right here on their boss's porch. That'd probably be a bad idea.

Right?

"You think I like lookin' like an idiot?" he asked, keeping his voice low and husky, accent bleeding through. He hated that sound, his real voice making everyone initially dismiss him as a dumb hick, but it was worth it to see Charlie shiver, breath shaking.

"No," Charlie whispered back. Sawyer dug his nails in again, though not quite as hard this time. "S-sir. No, sir. Sorry."

Sawyer smirked and looked over him for a few seconds, unwilling to believe that he was about to do this. His grip on Charlie's shoulders tightened painfully for just a moment – and then he pulled back. He took a few steps backwards, and watched Charlie stumble, still smirking. He stayed as casual as ever, even though he was hard in his jeans and already regretting moving away.

"Good, kid – don't do anything like that again, or I'll get your damn ass fired. Now get in the car." He hardly gave Charlie a chance to breathe again, but the constable nodded, dazed, and moved forwards. Sawyer rolled his eyes, affectionate again, and grinned. "Idiot," he breathed.


	6. Chapter Five

The following morning, Charlie could still feel Sawyer's hands on his shoulders as he sat behind the front desk. He hadn't been able to work out what had happened last night, despite thinking about it ever since Sawyer had stopped the car in front of his flat and ordered him to get out.

He'd eventually decided to just forget about it – it was nothing. And even if it was something, Sawyer was his superior officer. There was no way he'd even consider getting involved with him in any way at all.

Unless he talked in that growling whisper again.

Urgh, okay. So maybe he wasn't doing a very good job as 'forgetting'. He frowned and rubbed at the centre of his forehead, as he continued to read through the printouts of the computer files, and the schedules that they'd seized as evidence.

Sawyer seemed to be covering up for their 'GWHunter' and no one else from the web-cam chats seemed too out of the ordinary. They were all either one-time visitors or weren't behaving abnormally or threateningly. He set the logs aside for now, and took a sip from the glass of water in front of him.

Fine. The schedule. There was bound to be something there, right?

Charlie leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a few moments. He almost wished he was back at Manchester. Almost. He opened his eyes again and looked over the neat and orderly desk. Beside the phone, in the plastic pot of pens, there were a couple of vibrant highlighters. He had photocopied sheets of paper – he could try some colour coding. It might help.

He leaned forwards and grabbed a green pen, holding it tightly before getting to work. 

He had pen marks in various colours scattered all over his hands by the time the automatic door slid open and frenzied movement revealed that Sawyer had just arrived – late again. Charlie didn't look up, and instead fought to hide a smile.

"DI Ford, sir? You've got a couple of messages." He couldn't look at Sawyer, so stayed focused on his notes. Sawyer lingered on the other side of the desk. Even without seeing him, Charlie sensed that he felt uncomfortable too. "One's from the chief – he says Locke's taken three weeks sick leave, so you've got to direct any enquiries straight to him."

Charlie dared a glance up after that, and he and Sawyer shared a secret smile. Warmth spread between them, slow and creeping, before Charlie coughed and focused again. "Also, Forensics called – said you've got to come down and see them. Now, preferably. Or ten minutes ago, to be honest. Said you were talking to the Chief. Might wanna go now, though, before they catch you out."

Sawyer nodded and walked off without a word and definitely without a simple 'thanks'. Charlie rolled his eyes and returned to his work. 

Sawyer rushed downstairs to the forensics lab, with his heart still stammering from the meeting with Charlie. He'd frozen up during it, barely able to say a word. Instead, his stomach had just felt like it was glowing, and he'd barely been able to think after Charlie had offered him that secret smile.

He shook his head at his own behaviour as he descended the emotionless stairs to the lab. It would have been fine if he'd just wanted sex. That was easy – but this? This was damn difficult.

He wanted to do it all properly, for the first time in his life. He wanted to take Charlie out on a date and get him to move in with him and get married and have kids and grow old together and retire out to the country and do crossword puzzles – which Charlie would be terrible at, so Sawyer would get to feel smart.

But it was precisely because of all that that Sawyer wouldn't do this. He didn't believe in relationships; they were dirty things, even when they weren't between police officers.

He definitely was _not_ going to give into temptation.

He wasn't.

Maybe, though, just for curiosity's sake, if he had some spare time – he might look up the department's policy on relationships between colleagues.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and swept into the chemical smelling environment of the lab. For a reason he'd never been able to pin down, this place always reminded him of a hospital. And, just for the record, Sawyer hated hospitals.

A man in a lab-coat sat nearby, with a loud and whirring machine on the desktop beside him. Seeing as he was the only intelligent life form that Sawyer could see, he moved over to him. "I'm on the Kwon case. I was told to come down here."

The man looked up, slightly harassed. His hair was greying and the wrinkles thrown over his face seemed to imply that he was nearing retirement age. "The fingerless chick? Yeah, we've just finished processing the evidence you sent down."

Sawyer nodded, even though he hadn't sent _anything_ down here. Other people would've done that for him, and he hadn't even been working the case since the beginning. "What is it?"

"There was a powder found at the murder scene. We've tested a sample – it's sand. We thought, at first, that it might be some kind of drug, but… Apparently not!" The man – Sawyer really wished that they'd bothered to introduce themselves – bopped off his stool and walked to grab a file. Sawyer had it thrust into his arms before he could protest that he didn't want any more paper. "That's the full chemical breakdown of the sample and finance report. I've also added in the report about the blood we found under her fingernails."

"Just tell me about it."

"Alright. Type AB, no match in the database. But we did manage to find something out that might help." He grinned, and Sawyer stared blankly at him, just wanting to yell at him to hurry up. "It's related to her. Mother, father, sibling, child, something. Definitely related."

Sawyer frowned, but he nodded slowly. He hadn't known that there was any family in the country. "Anything else?"

"The footprint. Ecco brand shoes, size 10, man's shoe. That's all we've got so far – we're working on narrowing down the exact type."

Sawyer tried hard to pay attention, because this might actually be important. It might've been more interesting if the lab-rat talking did so in anything other than a monotone. "Is that it? Any fingerprints found?"

"No, sorry. There's a full report of everything in that file. If anything else comes up, we'll call you down."

Sawyer nodded, while trying to figure out roughly how long it'd take him to read the damn file. A couple of hours, if he was lucky and read it fast. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, before turning around to leave. It looked like he had a day of reading ahead of him. 

"Sawyer!" Charlie called as the DI walked past the desk. He'd only been down at forensics for about five minutes, but he already looked fed up and liable to snap at whoever was brave enough to go near him. Charlie paused for a second, sighed heavily, then picked up the papers on his desk and walked after him. "Sawyer, wait."

Sawyer thoroughly ignored him and instead stormed up the corridor to his office. Wanker.

He arrived at the office just as Sawyer slammed the door shut – he came within half an inch of having to live with an extremely flat nose for the rest of his life. He took a step backwards and opened the door, while listing all the reasons why yelling at his boss would be a bad idea.

Surprisingly, there weren't as many as he'd thought there would be. He just about managed to keep himself controlled, especially as he saw Sawyer throwing a hefty file onto his desk. That'd explain it; the guy was having a tantrum because he didn't want to read a report.

"Sir? I was calling for you – didn't you hear me?" he asked, closing the door behind him. Now that he'd cleared up, the room seemed bland. The plant he'd left on Sawyer's desk was _already_ dying.

Sawyer glanced up and shrugged. It looked like he was feeling even more anti-social than usual.

"Well, uh… I wanted to say – I've been looking over her schedule, right? The victim's? She's got a couple of hours with the camera pencilled in every night; apart from the weekends." He moved over to the desk and placed his papers down on top of the file that Sawyer had just put there.

He'd already managed to colour-code it nicely, his revision skills from high school kicking in persistently. The pink highlighter meant web-cam time. Then he'd started to use a different colour for each of the other appointments, and on thing had quickly become apparent: she had some one-off random clients, and three regulars.

He pointed to the first one, coded green. "'Dancing at H's'. If she's dancing, I figured that might be a strip-club or something? I'm going to look it up, see if there are any clubs called H, or beginning with H, or have an owner beginning with H or… I dunno. I'll ask Mr. Kwon first. Probably easier. And I'll ask to see if there are any addresses for the rest of them."

"The 'rest of them' is just two people."

"Yeah. Hugo and SL. I'm gonna go with 'Hugo' first – he had an emergency appointment on the night she disappeared."

Sawyer didn't look like he was really paying attention; his eyes had sort of glazed over. Feeling self-conscious, Charlie picked up the schedule again. "So… yeah. Just thought I'd let you know what I'm up to." He'd definitely learnt his lesson light night – the last time he hadn't told Sawyer absolutely _everything_, he'd been slammed against a wall. He wasn't going to make the same mistake today.

Sawyer seemed satisfied. "Yeah, okay. You make any progress at all, I want to know about it. Immediately. You got that?"

Charlie nodded and walked over to the door. "Yes, sir." 

He'd managed to develop a headache by the time he went back to Sawyer's office an hour or so later. He'd spent that time with the phone glued to his ear, and had decided that he hated being the 'good cop'. He didn't have the patience for it.

He rapped briefly on the door with his knuckles and didn't wait for an answer – he just charged straight in.

Sawyer was merely staring out of the window anyway, with the file on his desk read about a quarter of the way through, sitting open on his desk. He jumped up and attempted to look busy when someone walked through the door; instantly, though, he relaxed when he saw it was just Charlie.

'Just Charlie'. Christ, that wasn't exactly flattering. He'd had to cope with being 'just Charlie' and never anything more all his life.

He plonked himself down in the chair in front of Sawyer's desk, and didn't bother saying hello. If Sawyer could be rude, then he could too. "H's is Henry's. It's a chain of club. They're mainly in England, but there's one in Scotland too. There's even a floating club – he has a boat that goes up the Thames and out to sea, every Friday.

"Anyway, they're ran by a guy called Ben Gale – Henry was his stage name when he used to do stand-up. Now, though, he runs a collection of 'adult entertainment parlours' – strip joins, basically. But, most importantly, Sun had a job on Saturday nights there, as one of the entertainers."

It had taken him a half-hour phone conversation with Jin just to work out that much. Sawyer'd better appreciate it. "Still, nice bit of trivia for you; Sun and Ben knew each other. That's how she got the job, according to Jin. He said they'd known each other since Ben was still doing stand-up. Years down the line, when Sun's having money troubles, he pulls a few strings and she just _happens_ to end up working for him."

An impressed smile started on Sawyer's face, but Charlie wasn't anywhere near done yet.

"And, being so bloody perfect, I managed to get us an interview with Gale. Pretty difficult, but once I explained that if he didn't comply we'd have to arrest him, it became a little easier."

"Well, Ch—"

"Hey, hang on. Unlike you, dazing through windows, I've actually made productive use of the past hour." He smiled and only just held back from sticking his tongue out at Sawyer. "So. I couldn't figure out who the other guy on the schedule was, the 'SL'? Mr. Kwon seemed a little baffled by it too. I'm gonna keep looking into it.

"But, I had some progress with Hugo. When I was talking to Mr. Kwon, he said he didn't keep the addresses of her clients. But, he told me where he was supposed to have been picking Sun up afterwards, and I researched into it to see who lives in the area. No one called Hugo, but there's a 'Hurley Reyes', lives a little while up the road – he's a lottery winner, absolutely loaded. I talked to his wife on the phone; he's out of town, but he'll be back tomorrow."

Sawyer nodded slowly. "Anything else?"

"Nope, sir. That's it. How's the report?"

"Makes me want to dig my eyes out."

"Good read, then?" Charlie suggested, with a grin. Sawyer looked around for something to throw at him, so Charlie hastily put his hands up to show that he came in peace. "I should get back to the desk. The Gale interview's later this afternoon. Just wanted to keep you posted."

Actually, he'd just wanted a chance to chat to him again. Sawyer seemed to buy the excuse, though, as he nodded and looked back to his file. Charlie smiled uncertainly and left, knowing that he'd get to spend the afternoon with Sawyer when they interviewed Gale.


	7. Chapter Six

That afternoon, after Charlie had insisted on buying him lunch, they both went to interview Gale. Sawyer parked his car outside the grand-looking club that they'd be meeting Ben Gale in. It looked odd in the daylight, faded and deflated.

Charlie hopped out of the car, which was something that Sawyer was actually glad for – Charlie had been teasing him all the way here, asking if he'd ever been here before; Sawyer had denied it, but he didn't think that Charlie believed him.

The building's neon lights weren't yet shining, and there were several posters of the club's 'stars' stuck on the walls outside. Sawyer told himself not to stare and they walked up the collection of steps at the front, then in through the doors. It was like entering another world – they left London's drab streets behind and entered a seedy, steamy world of dirty promises and wide expanses of skin on display.

They were there mid-afternoon, so the club was empty of both dancers and customers. The lunch time show was over with and the cleaners and techies walked around, getting ready for tonight's show.

A woman, tall and powerful, appeared in front of them. Her eyes calmly took them in, before she beckoned them further inside. "Hello. I'm Miss Klugh. I assume you're the officers here to see Mr. Gale?"

Sawyer nodded. "I'm DI Ford; this is DC Pace."

Miss Klugh nodded, and looked at them both critically before smirking. Okay, Sawyer _really_ didn't like that. "It's nice to meet both of you. Mr. Gale has a very busy schedule, so he'll only be able to give you fifteen minutes of his time. If you need more, you'll have to come back another day." The way she carried herself reminded Sawyer of one of his old middle school teachers. He couldn't argue with her; Charlie didn't raise an objection either.

Instead, they followed her as she led them towards Ben's office. She knocked once on the door and entered.

Ben sat behind a neat desk, smiling benignly at them as they entered. Right away it was possible to tell that this was a man who thrived on perfection. His office was spotless, with the filing cabinets well-utilised. Sawyer wondered if Charlie had already been here to give the room the same treatment he'd given his office. Even on the desk, all of the stationary was in the same parallel direction, facing the door vertically, like spikes. Two empty seats were waiting for them at the closest side of the desk.

"Come in, come in." He beckoned over to the seats with a smile that should have been encouraging. It just seemed forced. Sawyer felt tense quickly, but moved to sit down anyway. Despite the blue shirt that was slightly unbuttoned at the top, something about Mr. Gale just seemed to be dangerous. Maybe it was the too wide blue eyes, or perhaps just the predatory and intelligent look in them.

"I just heard about our Sunshine yesterday. It's awful news." Ben started speaking as soon as they'd sat down, with his every word careful and measured. Miss Klugh left the office and closed the door behind her. "I don't suppose you've got any leads from your enquiries so far?"

Sawyer smiled; he was too smart, or maybe too experienced, to be tricked by a faux-concerned question like that. "We're not free to disclose information on the case, Mr. Gale, as I'm sure you're aware. We're here to question you, not the other way around."

Ben didn't seem stunned or at a loss by Sawyer's blunt attitude; he just smiled like he already had Sawyer figure out. "Of course, DI Ford."

Sawyer frowned just a little at the use of his name. They hadn't introduced themselves to him yet. Sawyer tried to ignore it, knowing that Gale was someone that would do his research, and pulled a tape recorded from his pocket. "We'll be recording this conversation, to help with our enquiries. Okay?"

The 'okay' implied that Sawyer would personally arrest him and reinstate the death penalty if Gale refused. Luckily, he just nodded happily.

They sat awkward as Sawyer stated their names, location, time, date and all that crap into the recorder, then sat it down on the table. "For the record, Mr. Gale, you're the victim's past employer?" Sawyer started, easily enough.

"Yes. One of them."

"What do you know about the other means that Mrs. Kwon used to earn money?"

Ben smiled and looked down at his desk: Sawyer had already decided that he _hated_ that smile.

"I'm aware that she had some… private clients."

"Could you elaborate on that?"

"She was a prostitute, Inspector," Gale snapped, losing his cool. He quickly found it again, smoothing down the material of his trousers and smiling again. He looked spaced. "I didn't view that as important – she was a club employee and then a friend first."

Charlie shifted in his seat. "A club employee and _then_ a friend? I thought you two had known each other for years?"

This time Ben's unflinching gaze settled on Charlie. Sawyer could see Charlie squirming, and immediately wanted to demand that Ben continued the rest of the interview with his eyes shut.

"Semantics, Constable. Obviously I cared more for her as a friend than as an employee. We had a history."

"Can you tell us about that history?" Charlie asked. Sawyer smiled and relaxed, glad that Charlie had recovered again.

"We used to work together," Ben answered. "When I set up the club, I got a job for her here too. She was a good dancer."

Sawyer felt Charlie looking at him for help now, because Ben didn't seem to be giving them much of anything.

He nodded. "Alright. Do you know of anyone that might have a grudge against her?"

Ben considered it for a few moments, and realigned the pencils on his desk as he did so. "No one in specific. She was a wonderful woman. Maybe she managed to annoy one of her customers. Or maybe her new husband finally snapped. How should I know?"

Sawyer shook his head, but Charlie shifted forwards in his seat. "Her 'new' husband?" Sawyer quickly remembered - according the Jin and the marriage certificate, they'd been married for nearly a decade. Ben shook his head and waved the question away dismissively. Charlie didn't seem ready to drop this yet. "You and Mr. Kwon don't get on."

Ben sighed. "No, I supposed not. I've only met him a few times." He shifted in his seat and rolled up his sleeves again. "But I suppose you could say that I'm predisposed to dislike him."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Sun and I… We have more than a simply professional history together."

"You two had a past relationship?" Charlie asked. Sawyer nearly snorted at how completely surprised Charlie sounded. Still, he understood it. The idea of this odd little man in front of them having a relationship with anyone seemed bizarre.

Ben just smiled wistfully. "Yes. We were together for three years."

"And how did it end?"

Ben looked down at his pencils. "She left me for Jin." Sawyer didn't allow his face to show anything – but _fuck_. That could be a motive, couldn't it? He stopped himself from jumping to conclusions. "Sun just walked out on us."

Sawyer frowned. "Us?"

Ben looked up again, frowning and seemed confused. "Yes. Us. Me and Sun. Our relationship – she just walked out." His words seemed scattered and less controlled now, but Sawyer nodded.

"Okay. We'll need you to tell us where you were on the fourth of November."

Ben waved a hand vaguely. "I'd need to consult my diary, but I was probably here, at the club all night."

Sawyer was cut off from asking any further questions when the door to the office opened, revealing Miss Klugh. "Ben, your 2.30 appointment just arrived."

"Who?"

"Mr. Rom."

Ben seemed to recognise the name, as he looked back towards Sawyer. "I'm sorry, officers – I wish I could have been of more help." He stood up and motioned towards the door. "Good luck with your enquiries."

Standing, Sawyer and Charlie filed out of the room. On the way out, Sawyer felt Charlie's fingers brushing very lightly against his palm. He tried not to react, but just from that barely-there touch he felt butterflies in his stomach.

Fuck, he was so far gone.

He looked down and fought off a smile as he let his hand take Charlie's as they walked through the corridors, passing by various cleaners and technicians.

* * *

Ben moved back to his chair as the door closed behind the two detectives. It was always a mildly nerve-wracking experience to talk with the police, but as the owner of a chain of night-clubs – and hotels, and corner shops, actually – the trouble tended to go with the territory.

But Sun? Why her? She was _good_. You wouldn't have thought so – she was a dancer, she was a whore. She was amazing. Just young. Just naïve. Just misguided.

And now 'just dead'. Ben sighed and looked up as Ethan entered the room. He'd arranged the meeting, directly after the police interviews, for two reasons: to give the police a timetable, ad so that he could discuss the happenings with Ethan right afterwards.

"Ethan," he said as a greeting. "You were right. They wanted to know about Sun."

Officially, Ethan was the manager of one of his hotels, out in Cornwall. Unofficially, he did a little of everything. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Ben said. Ethan looked sceptical, so he conceded and shrugged. "More or less."

Now, Ethan looked thoughtful. "Do you need an alibi?" he asked.

"No. Do you?"

Ethan looked down and didn't answer, which made Ben's chest tighten painfully.

He looked down at his desk, staring at the neat arrangement there to calm himself down. "You here with me," he said carefully, finally looking up at Ethan meaningfully. "All night. You were here with me."

"I didn't do it, you know."

"I'm sure."

"I didn't. I found the body, but it was already dead. I thought I took care of it, so they wouldn't be able to ID it. But I didn't kill her. I wouldn't do that."

Ben didn't respond to that, unsure what to say. He'd heard of the state the body had been in when they'd found it; he could only assume that that had been Ethan's doing. The man was competent, but blunt. He didn't have the delicacy needed to handle situations like this.

On the other hand, he didn't seem to have the morals that would hold him back either.

"Alex went missing that night. She said she was going to study with a friend, but she didn't come back until three a.m.," Ben said quietly. She'd been in a mood as well, as always.

He loved his daughter so much, but he didn't seem to know her at all. She was only fourteen, and yet she already seemed like such a different creature than she had been when she was a toddler, when he and Sun had been raising her together.

"Maybe you should talk to her," Ethan suggested. "Find out what she was up to."

He'd have to. A talk with Alex – he didn't like the sound of that. She seemed to hate him these days; and she'd seemed to _detest_ Sun. Sun had wanted custody. He knew she'd been in touch with her lawyer about it, but hadn't ever been brave enough to talk to Alex about it. He supposed there was no point now.

"Yes. I know. Just… get rid of the case for me, Ethan. I don't care how. And keep Sun's lawyer quiet. I don't want the police to know about Alex."

Ethan didn't flinch; he just nodded. He was good like that – he knew how to silence people.

He looked thoughtful, with a small smile. "The two detectives on the case are… close, aren't they?" he asked, trying to get his bearings. He could be pretty observant when he needed to be. There was a reason Ben kept him around.

He nodded – he'd noted the way that DI Ford would look at the other, and the eager to please look in DC Pace's eyes. "I think so. They want to be closer than they are." He paused to think. "You can exploit that, if you must. I'd rather you were a little more subtle about the whole thing. Remember what happened last time?"

Ethan shivered. He remember, then. Good.

"Don't mess this up, Ethan. I won't stand for it again."

Their eyes met and Ben made perfectly sure that Ethan knew what would happen if this investigation progressed any further.

Ethan swallowed, mouth dry, and nodded. "I won't mess up, Ben. Don't worry. I promise I'll stop them this time."


	8. Chapter Seven

It was quickly becoming unbearable to work with Charlie. What had, at first, been a mild attraction was turning into something more, something he didn't know how to deal with. It didn't make sense – they'd been working together for less than a week. Sawyer wasn't a fan of the whole 'love at first sight' thing.

But fuck, he'd held his _hand_ walking out of 'Henry's'. He didn't even know why, he'd just felt proud, felt that they were getting somewhere.

The drive back to the station had been awful – he'd nearly pulled in at a lay-by at least twice, just to get this out of the way. Then he'd realise that he didn't actually want this to start with a quick fumble in the back of his car.

He didn't want 'this' to start at all. They were supposed to work together. So he'd done the mature thing – he'd avoided Charlie and hid in his office for the remainder of the day.

The next morning, he sat behind his desk, working his way through that file from forensics. He was looking for anything that might be evidence against Ben; just from that interview, he was convinced that it had to be that guy. He had a motive, and he seemed creepy enough to do it.

Glancing at the clock, he stood up quickly when he realised that he had a meeting with their 'Hugo' from the schedule in about twenty minutes. If he wanted to get there on time, he'd have to go now.

When he reached the front desk, he frowned when he saw long blonde hair and a woman's smiling face instead of Charlie's. He scowled, recognising DC Littleton. "Where's Charlie?" he asked as he paused by the desk and glared at her as if that might help change her into the person he was looking for.

It didn't, and she just shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Ford. He had to go and do a thing. He left this for you." She rummaged under the desk and produced one of Charlie's post-it notes. Sawyer glanced at it and recognised the hand-writing, before rolling his eyes at her and storming out of the door.

He waited until he was in the car, sulking, before he actually read what it said.

Good luck with Hugo! See you when you get back. You fancy going for a drink or something? Figure I'll need it after a day with the bloody coroner.

Although Sawyer was pissed off at Jack for poaching _his_ constable, the sight of that absently scrawled 'x' at the end of the note made him smile. He was starting to love getting those notes from Charlie.

He folded it up again and put it in his pocket, before placing his key in the ignition and getting ready to go.

* * *

The Reye's household crept him out. It was a giant house – you could fit about twenty apartments just inside the first floor – and didn't seem to have any inch that hadn't been run over with a vacuum cleaner twenty times. The whole place had been purged of all dirt and dust.

Sawyer didn't like it as he sat in what he'd guess was the living room. It was hard to tell; it didn't seem very _lived_ in. The walls and floor and furniture and everything was white. The decorator was probably going to something that looked modern. Instead, it just looked sterile.

Sawyer looked up as a large man entered the room. Sawyer had been expecting a… He wasn't sure. A _millionaire_. Someone with a suit, with a Rolex, with something.

Instead, there was a nervous-looking man in a giant t-shirt, with an alarming mass of curly hair. Sawyer stood up and took a step forwards. "I'm DI Ford; thanks for meeting with me."

"It's cool. 'though I don't really know what it's about. Sorry."

"You _are_ Hugo Reyes, right?" Sawyer asked cautiously, just to make sure that he was interviewing the right person.

But Hugo nodded. "Yeah, that's me. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"I just need to ask a few questions, that's all."

Hugo looked relieved. They moved over to sit down, Sawyer on the white couch and Hugo on the matching chair. There was a glass coffee table separating them, with a file laid on top of it.

Sawyer picked the file up, flipped it open and pulled out a photo of Sun. It was a nice picture, innocent. She was outside in some garden, holding a yellow flower and snapped mid-laughter.

"Do you know this woman?" he asked and passed the photo to Hugo.

As soon as Hugo saw it, his face fell and he looked terrified. "Yeah, that's Sunshine." He glanced up at Sawyer, with his eyes wide. "Is she okay? In trouble? Something? What's going on?"

Sawyer didn't allow himself to feel pity for him. Hugo was a suspect, even if he looked panicked and pathetic. Sawyer remained objective, or tried to.

"She's dead."

Hugo paled dramatically. His voice was strangled when he spoke again. "What? I didn't… What?"

"She's dead, Mr. Reyes. I'm sorry."

"But she… she can't be. I just saw her on, like, Sunday. She wasn't dead then." Sunday? She'd been killed on a Monday morning, about 2am according to Jack. Alright, that was nice and interesting.

"How did she seem?"

"I dunno. Normal. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Yeah. I mean… she was sorta distracted, I guess. She didn't seem as… into it as she usually was. Like there was some big thing she was thinking about during it."

Aw, fuck. Sawyer so didn't need to be imagining Hugo and Sun having sex, regardless of the level of enthusiasm. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He ran a hand over his face, trying to purge his mind. "Can you think of what it was?"

"No, not really. We don't talk about that kind of stuff. Real stuff. I mean, I could've. If I wanted. She wouldn't have minded. But… that was, like, my other life. When I was with Sunshine, I was someone else. She called me Hurley."

"So you don't know what was going on with her?"

"Well, no. Sorry, dude. I just know that _something_ was. She left early. Usually, she leaves at about ten. This time it was, like, nine."

"Did she give you a reason?"

"Nope. She just got a phone call and took off."

Sawyer nodded; he'd get Charlie to start chasing up IT. They'd been supposed to be getting Sun's phone records for days now. Hopefully, Charlie would be free from Jack by the time Sawyer got back to the station. He just wanted to see him, to be honest. The sight of Hugo, this heart-broken man, made Sawyer feel uncomfortable and empty.

"Alright, thank you. Can you tell me how long you've known her?"

"Uh… I dunno. A while? A year or so, I think."

"Do you know the date?"

"No. I mean… I was at a big party. I can't remember where or… Crap." Hugo looked down, and his eyes widened again. "She's dead and I can't even…" Sawyer shifted backwards into the couch and hoped Hugo didn't start crying. Damn, he needed Charlie here to handle that sort of shit. "Are you sure she's dead?" Hugo asked hopefully, looking up at him again. "She might not be. It might be someone else, right? Someone that looks like her? That happens, doesn't it? I mean, it _could_ happen?"

Sawyer shook his head. "It was her; we've had her husband confirm it."

"Dude?" The word should have been comical, but it shudder and shook and broke with emotion. That one word seemed to symbolise the end of the world.

Sawyer suspended the interview, suspended his professionalism, and moved over to give Hugo an awkward pat on the shoulder as the man started to cry.

* * *

Susan Lloyd glanced up at the clock on her wall as she ran over her case-notes for tomorrow. Right. She should have left for home about ten minutes ago. Sighing, she placed her hand on her head for a few long moments: Sun should have been here. They'd had a meeting scheduled to talk about her daughter. It just wasn't like Sun to not turn up.

To be honest, Susan was worried. She hadn't heard from her friend and client in exactly a week.

She shook her head, knowing that it was nothing. Sun would probably call tomorrow, apologising profusely for missing the appointment. There would be a good excuse – there always was.

Ready and aching to go home, Susan gathered her things together and stood up, picking up her briefcase from where it was propped against the table. She straightened down the grey pencil skirt she was wearing and walked out of her office, taking care to lock up behind her.

Her feet in their high-heels were killing her already: once she got home, she'd see if she could bully Brian into giving her a foot-rub. She doubted he would, but it would be fun to at least listen to all of the various excuses he would give to get out of it.

Down the stairs of the complex and out onto the street, she was soon making quick progress towards her car. As she started to rake through the pockets of her suit jacket for the keys, she felt a firm hand on her arm.

Eyes wide, she looked up to see a man in a white shirt, with a bland smile and thinning hair. Not someone you'd usually take for a mugger, but that didn't help to calm her down at all. "Can I help you?" she asked. His hand on her arm didn't relax at all; inside her pocket, her hand tightened on the keys.

"I sure hope so. Are you Ms. Lloyd?"

Cautiously, she nodded.

"That's excellent. I'm Ethan Rom – I need to talk to you, thanks. It's about Sun."

Feeling her mouth going dry, Susan nodded again. Her eyes scanned over the street; there was no one there. No one she could yell to, no one to act as a witness. With her heart beating much too fast, she had no choice but to allow Ethan to lead her away from her car with his hand still clamped too tightly on her arm.


End file.
